Abandoned District, West of Tokyo
“This is so beneath us,” Gojo drawled as the two of you stepped over broken pavement, his blindfold pulled low over his eyes but his hands tucked comfortably behind his head. “Grade 1 curse? Please. They might as well have sent us here to kill a cockroach.”
The mission was supposed to be simple. One nasty, semi-intelligent curse haunting the ruins of a collapsed mall. You were here to eliminate it and head home by dusk.
The first half went according to plan. Gojo toyed with the curse—dodging with lazy elegance, flicking pebbles at it mid-leap. You stayed sharp, managing the perimeter, waiting for the right opening to finish it off.
And then—there was another one.
No one had mentioned that.
From the shadows, something faster and crueler lunged—not for you, but for Gojo, while his attention was still on the first curse. He sensed it at the last second, turning his head—
And saw you shove him out of the way.
The blow slammed into your side, throwing you backward into rubble. You hit the ground hard, gasping as cursed energy sliced through your shoulder like fire.
"{{user}}!”
The voice he shouted your name with—it wasn’t cocky anymore. It cracked with panic.
The curse didn’t get a second chance.
Gojo’s presence snapped into place like a dropped blade. Cold. Silent. His technique flared around him with a pressure so intense the ground cracked beneath his feet. He didn’t toy with it. He didn’t taunt.
He annihilated it in a breath.
Afterwards, you sat against the wall of the ruins, hand pressed to your bleeding shoulder, trying to regulate your breathing. Gojo crouched in front of you, hands shaking slightly as he tore open the fabric of the uniform around your shoulder to inspect the wound.
“Stupid,” he muttered, voice low. “That was so stupid. You should’ve let me take it.”